driver’s seat. She waved and smiled, a tight smile that bore no relation to Tangerine’s open happiness.
Tangerine held Amos’s hands as they watched the little old lady get out of the car. There was something strange about the way the woman moved that Amos couldn’t quite process, how she kind of unbent herself as she rested her hands on the roof, and got taller and taller, maybe seven foot tall, with her arms and legs out of normal human proportion, and then she didn’t look like a little old lady at all.
“Oh, God, Grandma, I can’t do this,” said Tangerine, and all of a sudden Amos’s hands were free and the girl was pushing at his chest, pushing him away. “Run!”
Amos glanced back over his shoulder, only half running, till he saw that the old woman’s mouth was open, and Amos wished it wasn’t, wished he’d never seen that mouth, never met Tangerine, never gotten caught in vampire weather, and he was running like he’d never run before, and screaming at the same time.
The vampire stalked past her granddaughter, who held a necklace of crosses in her hand and wept, a girl crying for her grandmother the vampire, and for a boy she hardly knew.
Amos felt the cold, wet air against his bare neck, missed the jangle of the crosses, and knew that Tangerine had taken his protection when she’d kissed him. He wept, too, tears full as much of the hurt of betrayal as fear, and then something fastened on his coat, and he was borne down to the ground, sliding and screaming, trying to turn onto his back so he could cross his arms, but the vampire was so much stronger, her hands like clamps, gripping him to the bone, keeping him still, and he wet himself as he felt the first touch of those teeth he’d seen on his neck and then —
Then there was a heavy, horrible thumping, cracking sound, like a big tree come down on a house, smashing it to bits. Amos felt suddenly lighter, and with a last surge of desperate energy he rolled over and brought up his bracers to form a cross — and there above him was Young Franz, in full silver-embroidered coat and hat, a bloodstained six-foot silver-tipped stake in his hand. Behind him was Old Franz, and Amos’s father, and all the older brothers, and his mother and the aunts in their silver-thread shawls, argent knives in hand.
Amos sat up, and a bucketful of tainted dust fell down his chest and across his legs. It smelled like sulfur and rotten meat, and the reek of it made Amos turn his head and vomit.
As he did so, his mother came close and raised a lantern near his head. When Amos turned to her, she pushed his head back, so that the light fell clear upon his neck.
“He’s bit,” she said heavily. She looked at Amos’s father, who stared blankly, then held out his hand. Young Franz gave him the bloodied stake.
“Father.,” whispered Amos. He reached up to touch his neck. He could, quite horribly, feel the raised lips of two puncture wounds, but when he looked at his fingers, he could see only a tiny speck of blood.
“It is the will of the Lord,” said his father, words echoed by the somber crowd.
He raised the stake above his head.
Amos let himself fall back to the ground and shut his eyes.
But the stake did not enter his heart. He heard someone screaming, “Stop! Grandma! Stop!” and he opened his eyes again and tilted his head forward.
It was Tangerine shouting. She came running through the crowd of villagers, who parted quickly ahead of her but closed up behind as she faltered and stopped by the mound of ash and smoking flesh that had been her grandmother. She had his necklace of crosses in her left hand and a small golden object in her right.
“Another one,” said Amos’s mother. She raised her knife. “A young one. Ready your stake, Jan.”
“No!” shouted Amos. He twisted himself up and grabbed his father’s leg. “She’s human. Look, she’s holding crosses! She’s a person!”
Tangerine looked up from the remains of her grandmother. Her face was wet with more than fog, and her mouth quivered before she was able to get out a word.
“I–I’ve already called the police! And my dad! You can’t kill Amos!”
Amos’s father looked her up and down, the stake held ready in his hand. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he spoke to his wife.
“She’s holding crosses, sure enough.”
The older woman sniffed.
“This isn’t any of your business, outsider. A vampire’s bit my son, and we must do what must be done.”
“But he can be vaccinated!” sobbed Tangerine. “Within twenty-four hours of a bite, it still works.”
“We don’t hold with vaccination,” answered Amos’s mother. She looked at her husband. “Do it.”
“No!” shrieked Tangerine. She threw herself over Amos as Jan raised the stake. Amos put an arm around her and shut his eyes again.
“I said do it, Jan!”
Amos opened his eyes. His father was looking down at him with an expression that he had only ever seen once before, when Jan had broken his favorite chisel, broken it beyond repair.
“My phone is still connected to the 911 operator,” said Tangerine desperately. “Listen!”
She held up the tiny gold object. There was a distant voice speaking from it.
Jan looked at it for a long, long second. For a moment Amos thought he would throw it away, or crush it beneath his heel, but instead he reached out and took it gingerly between two of his thick fingers, as if it was a bug to crush. But he didn’t. Instead he lifted it to within six inches of his face and spoke slowly and heavily.
“This is Jan Korgrim, from New Rufbah. We need an ambulance for a vampire-bit boy. He’ll be by the mailbox. ”
The voice spoke from the phone, urgently.
“No, the vampire’s dealt with,” said Jan. He looked at Tangerine, and a dark, angry tone crept into his voice. “I reckon it was an old family one, let loose.”
The 911 operator spoke again, but Jan dropped the phone on the ground and left it there, squawking. His wife looked at him with eyes sharper than her silver knife and turned away. The other villagers followed watchfully, lanterns held high to illuminate the fog, stakes and knives still kept ready.
Only Jan remained, looking down at Amos and Tangerine, all tangled together in the dirt.
“Father, I — ”
Jan raised his hand.
“There’s nothing to be said between us, Amos. You’re an outsider now.”
“But Father, I don’t want — ”
Jan turned away and strode quickly up the hill, toward the fuzzy, fog-shrouded lantern light that marked the way home.
Tangerine rolled off Amos and got to her feet. He looked dully up at her and saw that she was weeping uncontrollably, tears streaking her face.
“My name’s not. not really Tangerine,” she sobbed. “It’s Jane.”
Amos shrugged. He didn’t want to know this — he didn’t want to know anything.
“And I’ve got a steady boyfriend.”
Amos just wanted to lie on the ground and die.
“Grandmother wanted me to find someone she could drink. Someone unvaccinated. She was tired of reheated treated plasma. She promised she wouldn’t kill you, but then when I saw her. I saw her go full vampire. I’m sorry, Amos. I’m sorry!”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Amos. “You’d better go, though.”
“Go? I’ll help you down to the road, to meet the ambulance.”
“No,” said Amos. He got up on his knees and then slowly stood, pushing Tangerine. Jane. aside when she tried to help. “I’m not going down to the road.”
“What?”
“There’s a cold lake in a kind of hollow near the peak,” said Amos. He staggered forward a few steps and almost collided with a tree. “The fog sits there, day and night. I’m going to take a rest there. Just for a few days, and then — ”
“But you’ll turn,” exclaimed Jane. She tugged at his arm, trying to drag him downhill. “You’ll be a vampire!”
“I’ll be a vampire,” agreed Amos. He smiled at the thought. “And then I reckon I’ll go home and. despite crosses and silver and everything, I’ll — ”
“No,” said Jane. “No! You don’t want to be a vampire. Grandma. Grandma hated it, she could never see the
